Secretly Saving The World
by sugar1621
Summary: Whatever happens, he can't let her know about his night job. Because Donald Ressler was about to become a superhero, and no one was supposed to know. A/U
1. Prologue

**A/N: I know I should be focusing on "Restart" right now but this AU came to me recently and I just really like the idea of Superhero!Ressler. Very very AU, totally different from anything canon, focuses on Liz and mostly Ressler; just having fun with the characters. This prologue focuses on Ressler's back story (again, very AU), so next chapter is set present day. Not sure how good this is, but hope you like it :) Chapter one should be up soon.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the writing. Everything else belongs to NBC.**

* * *

 _Prologue_

Special. That's the only word that Donald Ressler has allowed to be used when he is being described.

Ever since he was young Donald Ressler has always known that he was different.

 _Special_.

As a toddler in kindergarten he would do little things unintentionally, like move one of his stuffed animals from one side of the bed to the other, but they were little things and they wouldn't always work.

But he came to the full realization of his abilities when he accidentally made an oblivious Vanessa Cruz's skirt lift up in first grade by just looking at it as he was waiting in line behind her for the water fountain after the dismissal bell had rung. He was quite amazed by his newfound power so he tried it again, moving closer up and made her skirt hike up even higher. Unfortunately both Vanessa and their teacher noticed this time and Vanessa screamed, causing their teacher to scold Donald and promptly send him to the principal's office, thinking that he had purposely lifted the skirt up with his hand.

Donald, however, was too excited about his abilities to care as he sat by the bench in front of the office, waiting patiently for his parents to finish up their meeting with the principal half an hour later.

Being sent down to the office and walking past the stares never bothered him; he was used to never fitting in because he was too quiet or too immersed in his own little world of superheroes and villains (that seemed to be all Donald cared about at the time. He found a collection of his father's old comic books in the basement when he was three and hadn't stopped reading them since). He made sure he did what he was told and focused on his work, but never tried to do anything else. The teachers treated him like any other average kid, the rest of the students didn't even speak to him nor was one of them a close friend, and that was the way Donald liked it.

He was about to test his powers again when his parents emerged from the principal's office with a grave expression on both of their faces.

"Donald, sweetie, let's go home." his mother had said gently, taking his hand and guiding him out the front door into the parking lot.

Donald nodded and glanced back at his father, who was walking behind them with a sullen face.

His mother was always the nurturing one, bringing him to school and such, but his father was cold and unapproachable, and spent so much time with his work which he never talked about that he didn't know how to interact with his only son. He never really came around to Donald, and Donald was okay with it.

The drive home was quiet and awkward, not that Donald had cared. He was too busy watching the trees outside blow violently in the nonexistent wind knowing that it was him who had creating the sudden change in weather, solely with his mind.

His parents never noticed, they were too busy discussing something in hushed voices.

When they had arrived home, his parents sat him down on the couch and faced him, their expressions serious.

Low It was Donald's father who spoke first. "Donald, do you understand what you did today?"

Donald nodded, playing with his shirt sleeve. He didn't really care in particular about whatever his parents were going to tell him. He loved them, but he'd rather be upstairs

His parents exchanged a look and this time his mother spoke. "Sweetheart, we need to tell you something, but you have to promise you can't tell anyone, alright? It's a secret."

Donald nodded, his eyes wide.

His mother glanced at his father one last time for reassurance, then had said, "What you have, honey, it's. . . _different_. Unique. Special. The reason why you can do what you do. . . uh. . ."

She stopped after noticing her husband's stern gaze, but continued. "You have powers."

Donald broke into a big smile. " _Powers_? Like superhero powers? Like Superman, and Batman, and Captain America?"

His mother beamed, but his father had quickly said, "Similar to that, yes. But what have you gathered about how they deal with their powers?"

"Um," Donald blinked. "they saved people using their powers?"

"No," his father quickly interjected, receiving a sharp look from his wife. "well, yes, but they never told anyone about their alter-ego. You following, son?"

Donald playfully bobbed his head up and down.

His parents exchanged several discreet words again before his father had gravely turned around and had told him those life-changing words he knew he would never forget.

"Donald, you have to know, what you have may be special, but it is very dangerous. Telekinesis - what you have - it can harm people including yourself. You have to learn to control your powers, you can't use them or let anyone besides your mother and I know about them. Ever."

Donald nodded again, but he was confused. What was the point of having powers if you couldn't use them to save people then?

Noticing her son's discontentment, his mother was quick to add, "But, if one day, you feel ready, you can use them, for the greater good."

She gave him a hug then, while his father looked on, still not completely convinced that it was a good idea.

That made young Donald grin. It was like his childhood dream; to grow up and be a superhero and save the world.

Secretly, of course.

As the years passed, not one more word was spoken about Donald's powers among the Ressler family or anyone else.

By the time Donald turned fourteen, he had full control over his powers and followed the advice his parents had given him so many years ago; he never used them.

He had occasionally wondered where they came from, but, following his parents' advice, he never bothered to find out more about them

In fact, he barely thought about them. He had changed a lot since he was in kindergarten. He had become more cynical, or at least as cynical as a fourteen-year-old boy could be, like his father. He even found a friend who shared similar interests; a boy named Sam Raimo who Donald had met at the start of freshman year, but Sam had moved away by eleventh grade and Donald was left alone again. His focus was no longer on superheroes and such; he was now wholeheartedly committed to becoming a successful writer.

A successful _non-fiction_ writer. A journalist.

He was obsessed with facts. That was why he did so well in subjects in school like math and science and geography; he loved learning about facts. His father had rubbed off on him, in a way; being the realist that he was, he encouraged Donald to stop reading comic books when he entered fifth grade, saying that he needed to focus more on real life or he wouldn't be able to succeed in life. His mother disagreed though, saying that it was good for children to have a good imagination

But Donald, not wanting to cause trouble, had hastily agreed with his father and shoved all the comic books into his closet, vowing not to read them again.

He loved his mother dearly, but he was understandably less fond of his father.

He then began to read nonfiction, specifically the newspaper. He loved to read every single article in each section, and his father approved of it all.

So then journalism became his dream, and saving the world (as Donald had put it) was pushed aside.

As the years progressed and Donald grew older, his parents began to grow apart. They would have fights almost every day and Donald _hated_ when they fought but he never spoke up about it; he just stayed in his room and shut it all out.

Even though he had done nothing wrong, Donald had a feeling that his father despised him. Maybe it was because he was too cynical or he just simply hated the fact that he had a child, Donald was never quite sure.

And those events soon led to the worst day Donald would ever see in his young life.

It was a rainy Saturday evening, three days after his sixteenth birthday, he would never forget that, and his parents were fighting again. This time, it was about him. Donald heard nearly everything they said even though he was locked away in his room doing homework.

Then he heard his father yell and throw something.

His mother had screamed. That was a sound he would never forget.

There was a brief pause before Donald heard the garage door open and someone drive out.

Judging by the sound of his father's heavy footsteps inside the house, it was his mother.

Throughout the whole ordeal Donald never left his room. He was too afraid.

He waited for his mother to come back as each minute turned into half an hour into an hour. Nothing. He was starting to worry. But he didn't dare speak up to his father, which he later immensely regretted. His mother returning late was something that they were used to; she worked late at the real estate agency so he convinced himself it wasn't that big of a deal.

Donald skipped dinner that night and never spoke to his father. But then they got the call at ten-fifty six pm.

His mother's car had skidded off the road and she was killed instantly.

And just like that, Donald's life was over.

Donald's father had informed him of the news in such a flippant and dismissive manner Donald knew from that moment on that family was no longer a priority in his father's mind.

He didn't even show up at the funeral.

The rest of Donald's high school years were hell; he didn't bother making any new friends (or girlfriends, for that matter), his grades started slipping from As to Bs to even Cs, and his father didn't even care. In fact, his father completely stopped paying attention to him, except for when he needed a favor (and Donald usually complied).

But as he grew older, Donald was starting to wonder about his telekinetic abilities.

Where did they come from? Why does he have them?

One day, Donald was sure, he was going to find out.

Donald couldn't wait until high school was finished so he could finally move out of his father's house and just get away from him for good, and maybe even get a career in journalism.

Or even find out about his powers.

He was surprised that his father let him stay in his house for so long even after the death of his mother. Donald figured it was because he helped pay a portion of the bills. He missed his mother a lot, though. He knew that she secretly believed in his powers.

Because now, in Donald's mind, he was completely and utterly alone.

 _Invisible._ The special boy with the powers, who thought he was destined for greatness, was now _invisible._

 _How times have changed._

So the only thing he had to keep himself sane besides school was writing. Writing for the school newspaper wasn't really a job in high-demand, but Donald enjoyed it. It was a way to keep himself busy. He wrote about anything and everything. It became his life.

And lucky for him, his favorite college had accepted his letter. It was in Manhattan.

Thousands of miles away.

His father couldn't stop him. He was free.

Donald couldn't be happier.

He was starting a new life.


	2. Chapter 1

**Thank you for all the support on the first chapter! Hope you like this one!**

* * *

Donald Ressler nervously fixes his tie one last time and pushes his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose as the elevator dings, passing another floor.

First impressions are important, his mother once told him.

He can't believe it.

He's starting his first day as a _journalist_ in the international news section of 'The Blacklist Journal'; New York's second biggest magazine (right behind _The New York Times,_ of course).

Well, he isn't _writing_ anything yet. He's technically an intern.

But he's positive he's going to climb the corporate ladder of success and one day he'll be at the very top.

This was his life's dream and he's actually living it; he's twenty-eight years old and he already owns an apartment in Queens (but it isn't paid off yet, unfortunately), _and_ he's interning for a world-famous newspaper.

Things couldn't be better.

After earning his Bachelor's degree in English, the only clear career path Donald had in mind was to follow his dream and become a journalist.

He's becoming increasingly nervous after each passing second.

Especially since he's never been good with people (his father's doing, he supposes, but he hasn't really thought about his father lately to be honest. _But_ , he is getting better with people skills.), the interview could have been a complete disaster.

But thank goodness it didn't. His resumé was impressive, he answered each brief question with sense and honesty, and the person seemed to like him for some reason.

Donald has always been a workaholic and does what he was told, so he's sure that he'll be so good at this internship it'll secure him a permanent job.

So then he takes one last second just before the elevator doors open to compose himself, fix his neatly combed blond hair and take a deep breath.

 _Thank goodness no one else is in the elevator right now_. Donald thinks. _Otherwise they'd probably witness me having a nervous breakdown_.

The doors open before he can have a second thought, and he steps up.

The main office is bustling with people, most of them pushing through impatiently to get to their desks carrying armfuls of paperwork.

It's certainly what Donald expected from a newspaper office in downtown Manhattan, so he doesn't feel completely caught by surprise.

At that moment a young, tall and lanky man carrying a gigantic suitcase bumps directly into Donald, who whirls around.

"Oh, jeez, I am so sorry man." he says genuinely, dropping the suitcase and some of its contents onto the floor.

Donald quickly bends down to help the guy clean his stuff up. "No, no, I should be the one apologizing. It's fine."

The guy laughs it off, stuffing all the papers back into his messenger bag. "No worries. I'm pretty sure you can tell it's my first day."

Donald raises his eyebrows. "Internship?"

"Yeah, how did you know? Were my first day jitters that obvious?"

Donald chuckles, glad that his first encounter with a person at the job wasn't as awkward as he expected it to be. "Don't worry. I'm an intern too. And it's sort of nerve wracking, isn't it?"

At that moment two people roughly shove their way through right between Aram and Donald, who finally take notice that they are both standing in the middle of a crowded hallway and they move aside.

"Tell me about it. I mean, didn't you just see those guys who walked right through us? Jerks. I was up all night thinking about it. It's my first job in a while, since I quit this paper production company. Uh, don't even ask. I'm Aram, by the way. Aram Mojtabai. Nice to meet you." he extends his hand to Donald, who shakes it and offers him a curt smile, glad that he found a somewhat of a friend in Aram Mojtabai.

"Donald Ressler."

"Oh. Don't most Donalds go by Don? I mean, no offense but that's a pretty old-fashioned name."

"Um. I don't actually know." Donald was caught a little bit off-guard by this Aram's random comment, not because of the nature of the question, but because he never really thought about it. "My parents, they chose it." _Well, duh._ "More specifically, my dad."

 _All the more reason to change it. What can you really lose?_

"Alright." Donald grins to himself. "Call me Don, then."

Aram is caught by surprise. "Dude, I was half-kidding. I don't actually mean you should change your name, it was only an observation-"

"No, I think it's a good idea." Don says quickly. "My father, let's just say he wasn't the fondest of me when I was young, nor was I of him. So, why not break free from the name _he_ gave me?"

Aram nods carefully. "That's true. My brother and I got into a fight once, it was about something stupid, we didn't talk for years until he recently apologized and I apologized so we made up. We're tight again now."

Don purses his lips. "My father would never do that. He's too harsh."

"You'd be surprised, just like I was. Give him a chance."

"I don't know. . ." Don was skeptical. He highly doubts his father would ever do something like that, he would never have a change of heart.

"You guys are the interns, I presume?" a clear female voice jolts Don out of his thoughts, and he looks up.

Standing in front of him is a girl.

Well, actually, a woman, who looks around his age or younger.

A very _attractive_ woman, he may add.

She's average height, blue eyes, medium length brown hair - okay, she's hot, Don will admit.

It's been a while since he's been in a (serious) relationship with a woman. Out of his twenty-eight years Don Ressler has dated two women in total; a girl he met in college named Audrey Bidwell, and another girl before Audrey whom he also met in college; Meera Malik.

Don was never great with women, but he figures he must have did something right with his two now _ex_ -girlfriends.

He was convinced for a long time that Audrey might have been the _one_ (even though she was his first official girlfriend ever) and felt horrible after the breakup for months, until he met Meera. She was cute, funny, almost everything that a guy would want in a girl, but Don was too hung up about Audrey to appreciate all of that.

That was three years ago, and between short-lived flings every now and then (Don still doesn't get how _he_ was even able to land women because his appearance is as geeky as it gets), Don's stayed single, and he's used to it.

But he's clearly getting ahead of himself right now, staring at this very attractive woman and not actually paying attention to a word she's saying.

 _Damn it._ Don scolds himself. _See what she's doing to you? That never happens._

"Psst. Don!" Aram hisses under his breath, jabbing Don with his arm and jolting him out of his momentary trance.

Don looks back up, and finds the woman staring expectantly at him.

"Oh. Sorry." Don says quickly, praying that this first impression won't get any worse.

"Um, I was asking," she says, repeating herself more clearer as if that would help get the message across. "what is your _name_?"

Don blinks. _Oh._

"Your _name_." the girl is getting annoyed now. _Shoot._ "As in, what your parents first called you."

Don feels his face burn bright red. _This_ is a perfect example of why he can never find a steady girlfriend. "Sorry, sorry, I'm Donal-, I mean _Don_ Ressler."

The girl narrows her eyes with uncertainty as Don mentally cusses himself out over and over, Aram looking on nervously.

"Oh-kay." she says tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose then scribbling something down on her notepad. "Well, I'm Liz," ( _Liz_ , Don thinks, _that's a sweet name._ ) "I'm a photographer for the international news section of the newspaper that you guys will be interning in, and for some reason my boss has assigned _me_ to help with you _dorks_."

Both Aram and Don's faces turn red again, neither of them wanting to be called out and labeled 'dorky' by an attractive girl.

"So, if you guys want to follow me, I'll show you to your office." Liz looks on at both of them expectantly, as if waiting for a sign of comprehension.

Both men quickly nod, and follow Liz as she pushes through the crowd of people.

As they pass rows and rows of tiny but neat cubicles Don finds that can't take his eyes off of Liz. But he tries not to let her distract him, trying to think as realistically as possible.

 _She wouldn't want you anyway, you saw what kind of a first impression you gave of yourself to her._

"Alright, boys," Liz finally stops right at the end of the hallway by a very small and dusty office. "Make yourselves at home. You'll be sharing, by the way."

Don glances at a just-as-unimpressed Aram. _What the hell?_

Taking in his surroundings, the first thing Don remarks is that besides the small shelf, there is only one desk. Noticing his perplexed expression, Liz quickly adds, "It's a good thing you guys are like best of friends already, because you two will take turns staying in the office and managing the office budget, and following me around the city taking notes."

And with that, Liz walks back out of the room, a smile playing on her lips as she leaves.

 _Damn._ Don thinks. _No girl ever made you feel like_ that _before._

"Dibs on following her around first." Don says with a grin before Aram can open his mouth.

Aram shrugs, putting his bag down on the desk and arranging everything the way he likes it. "Whatever, man. I can tell that you're totally into her."

"What? No!" Don is quick to defend himself, even though he will admit that he _is_ a little infatuated with Liz.

"Calm down, lover boy. I won't tell anyone." Aram chuckles, examining a small scratch on the desk. "If it's not already that obvious."

Don scoffs and tries to clear his head of anything Liz.

At that moment he happens to glance outside into the busy office and spots a man. He's an ordinary-looking man; in his fifties, grey and balding, maybe a little bit mysterious but other than that there's nothing that would stand out.

Thing is, the man is staring directly at Don, looking as if he wants to warn Don about something. Which _can_ be considered a little peculiar.

Suddenly a searing pain shoots through Don's skull, and it hurts like _hell_. Worse than a headache. Worse than a migraine.

"Holy sh-" Don curses under his breath, taking off his glasses and leaning on the wall for support.

 _This has never happened before. What the hell is going on?_

"Don, you okay?" Aram rushes over with a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Don grunts, his eyes closed even though he is anything but okay. "I get these sudden migraines sometimes, it's weird,"

He brings himself to look out the door, and the man is gone. Did he imagine that all? Don kicks the door close for peace of mind.

"Alright." Aram answers apprehensively and turns back to the desk, clearly not completely convinced.

The pain starts to dissipate and then disappears completely, and Don finally has the power to stand up again.

His eyes wander around the room again and focus on a circular pen holder. And then all of a sudden it lifts up off the shelf into the air.

Out of reflex Don swiftly controls the pen holder with his mind to land back on the shelf without another sound.

It takes him a second to realize, _he_ did that.

 _He_ did that, all of it.

 _Oh no._

 _Oh no._

 _Oh no._

 _It's not happening again._

 _It's not happening again._

 _That was so many years ago, you've learnt to control it, why is it returning?_

 _Why now? Why here?_

The thoughts swirl around in his head and Don closes his eyes again, attempting to calm himself down.

He glances over at Aram and hopes with all his might that he didn't see _any_ of that. Fortunately Aram is still occupied with unpacking and setting up the desk so he didn't see any of it.

 _Thank goodness._

 _But still, what the hell is going on?_

"I'm, gonna, um, I'm gonna talk a walk for a second." he manages to mutter to Aram, weakly opening up the door and walking out of the office before Aram can interject.

Don stumbles through the maze of desks and cubicles with his head down, keeping his eye out for the man who is nowhere to be seen, until he finds the washroom.

 _How did that man know? Who was he?_ thinks Don incoherently as he pushes the washroom door open and splashes his face with cold water by the tap.

He stares back up at his reflection in the mirror. _Are the powers resurfacing again? I can't control them anymore?_

Carefully, Don looks straight at the bottle of soap in front of him, and just like that, it lifts up off the ground.

Shocked, Don lets it fall to the ground unceremoniously.

He stares at it again and again, and it does the same thing each time.

He doesn't even have to think about it.

 _Why can't I control them anymore? I've been able to for the past twenty-two years!_

Don can't help but feel a little scared.

Because this is the first time in his life that he does not have full control of his powers.

And what can that lead to?

Disaster.

Disaster.

More disaster.

So he better find a way to control them again.

He's got to.

He _has_ to.

Otherwise everything will be changed forever.


End file.
